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Arlen Kallem has recently come into possession of a boat. Well, actually he's recently come into possession of a few things, given his mother just died. But most relevantly, he has a boat. And a friend, with whom he can boat. These facts are relevant.
Harin has no objections to boating; he's still in shock, as far as Arlen can tell, which is pretty unreasonable, considering it's been like a week since his dad died, and the guy was a complete asshole. But it does make him conveniently portable and boat-able. Arlen is the skipper and Harin is the something. They are the perfect team.
Even the most perfect team can make dumb mistakes, though. Like drifting farther out to sea than intended. Or not noticing a hurricane brewing. Or being swept across the ocean until they smash onto the far shore. That sort of thing.
Ari, sprawled on the beach, has a pillow; the pillow is a large chunk of rock protruding from the sand. It's such a lovely pillow. Very comfortable. He's going to sleep now. Harin has similar opinions on the subject.
When they wake up, there is a short boy in nice clothes staring at them from where he sits in the shade of a large boulder.
"Th'hell are you?"
He looks around muzzily.
"Th'hell am I?"
"You're on the coast of Elannwy," says the boy, in perfect Welchin. "Where did you mean to be?"
Pause.
"I'm Nior, currently. You have a name?"
After a moment his brow furrows and he asks, "Currently?"
Nior grins. "I have a twin. He doesn't do a very good me but I do a perfect him, so while we don't swap exactly, sometimes I duplicate him for a bit. His name's Miraen."
His grin... shifts, in some subtle way, and he gives a little half-bow, moving with a fluid comfort and a sense of energy that was entirely absent a second ago. "Miraen Kyres, pleased to meet you."
Then he drops back into his previous self - characterized by a quiet, watchful stillness, a lack of unnecessary movements - and adds, "Like that. The real one's back at the beach house if you and your sleepy friend would like to meet him. I should probably take you back there anyway so you don't starve to death out here."
"Um. Yeah. I- we should do that, anyway, we're concussed and stuff. Should get... whatever you do for concussions."
"Watched while you sleep in case you spontaneously die. I was already doing that," says Nior.
He gets up. He looks at the unconscious one.
"Your own damn fault, you crashed us in some weird adventureland and you're concussed. Get up so I stop poking you."
"Who's this kid?"
"Nior Kyres," says this kid. "Pleased to meet you. The house is this way."
Arlen sets off, wobbling somewhat but with admirable equilibrium. "Good t'meet you. Arlen. Or Ari. How old are you, anyways, you're short even for somebody who isn't standing next to the tree here."
"And my brother is precisely as short as I am and only a tiny bit more twelve."
"Is this a thing, in shipwreck adventureland? Is everyone tiny? Will I have to duck to get through doors?"